


Dance with the Devil

by pushkin666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: evilsam_spn, Fanart, Other, Summer of Evil Challenge 2013, evil!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/pseuds/pushkin666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It won't be long before Sam gets tired of their game of <em>Chase</em> and catches up with him.</p>
<p>This was written for the Summer challenge 2013 at <a href="http://evilsam-spn.livejournal.com"><b>Evil!Sam_spn</b></a>. My prompt was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO_fx1WshCA">Dance with the Devil by Cozy Powell</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance with the Devil

  


[Graphic for taking](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/pushkin666/7583216/114540/114540_original.jpg)

 

His hands are slippery on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot, wheels screeching on the wet tarmac as though all the demons of hell are behind him. Dean glances at the empty passenger seat where his gun is loaded and waiting to be used, and then takes a fleeting look back at the diner that lies empty and dead behind him.

Thankfully there’s nothing there and Dean turns his attention away from the diner, trying not to think about what he’d found there.

Lightning crackles overhead and the sky is lit with flickering blue luminescence. Dean hunches in on himself, shoulders tight as he keeps his eyes fixed on the road. There are no street lights to see by; they’ve become a thing of the past in the smaller remote country towns that Dean now inhabits. But then so many of the towns are now empty; the buildings and roads that had survived the fighting are slowly succumbing to Mother Nature.

Dean prefers the empty towns to those that still have remnants of humanity living within them. The closer he gets to cities, the more people there are that have been drawn to the false security of the lights. In Dean’s opinion that isn’t necessarily a good thing - the demons love the cities and in a land where heat and light have become more difficult to obtain humans flock to the cities, and the cities have become playgrounds for the demons, the fallen angels and every other creeping, crawling nasty that has slithered out of its proper dwelling place. Dean still does what he’s always done – he hunts, but it’s becoming harder to stay off the grid and away from Sam and his lieutenants.

Until he’d entered the diner Dean had thought that this was another dead ghost town, somewhere to catch a couple of night’s sleep, stock up on his supplies and hopefully find enough water to wash away the dirt of the road. Instead, he’d found booth upon booth of the newly dead; bodies strewn across the tables, blood and condiments mixing together to create a Pollock piece of artistry and death.

The radio crackles and Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel as the car suddenly fills with the music and words.

>  
> 
> _Safe in the shadows_  
>  Deep in the night  
>  I know you’re near  
>  But you’re nowhere in sight  
>  Safe from the darkness  
>  Down in the streets  
>  I hear your footsteps  
>  I hear your heartbeat  
>  Oh, I can hear your heartbeat  
> 

“Fuck off Sam,” Dean mutters viciously, glaring at the radio as the words pour from it. The song – Chasing Shadows by Uriah Heep has become Sam’s constant reminder that he won’t let Dean go, that no matter how far and how fast Dean may run at some point Sam is going to catch up with him. It’s pointless even trying to turn the radio off and Dean suffers through the song three times before the car falls silent again. The lyrics are a message from Sam but Dean has learnt to ignore them, as much as he can.

Since managing to escape from the Chicago demon compound eighteen months ago, Dean seems to have done nothing but run. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder but so far he’s managed to stay one step ahead of Sam, although whether that’s by accident or design is anybody’s guess. It leaves him still wondering just how long it will be before Sam gets tired of their game of _Chase_ and catches up with him.

*****

It’s raining heavily and even though it’s the middle of summer the sun has stayed resolutely behind the storm clouds for a number of weeks now, almost as though she’s too scared to show herself. Dean doesn’t blame her but he has found himself craving just a glimpse and even here, in Florida, there’s little sign of her. The rain continuously beats down on the car, like drums being played over and over and the sound has become a constant refrain for Dean’s journey.

In this new world hunters are needed more than they have ever been but the old networks have disappeared along with the world he once knew. Dean pulls a face because that’s not quite true, the networks are still there but not for Dean –the brother of Sam Winchester is on his own.

Checking his map Dean takes the second turning. He’s hoping that the map is directing him correctly toward a gas station. The Impala is running low and he needs to get his girl filled up – the last thing he needs is to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a boot full of weapons if she breaks down. Who knows what the hell might come calling!

Thankfully the map hasn’t played him false and about twenty minutes later Dean pulls into the forecourt of a ramshackle gas station. He takes a look around before picking up his gun and climbing slowly out of the car. Keeping his hand on his gun, Dean leans against the Impala for a moment to let his legs adjust to being outside the car before rolling his shoulders. He aches from sitting too long in the Impala and would kill for a long hot shower but he can’t remember the last time he had one of those. Well he can, but he prefers not to think of those weeks he spent with Sam before manage to escape his watchers. Weeks spent mainly on his back or on his knees and it burns down low in his belly when he thinks about what he’d been washing away.

Dean shakes his head and, brushing the rain from his eyes, he walks through the gloom to the small convenience store. With so many dispossessed people on the roads in the first few months of Sam’s reign, there’s no guarantee that there will be anything left to scavenge but it’s worth taking a look and, if nothing else, there will be toilets.

He’s in luck and there are goodies to be had in the store, possibly because the place is so remote. Closing the door behind him Dean slings the bag he’s filled with unopened bottles of water, snacks and batteries over his shoulder and he’s already taken a couple of steps toward the Impala before he realises what’s waiting for him and he comes to a standstill. His right hand tightens on his gun as his path is blocked by a line of men holding weapons. _Hunters_ , he amends silently in his head – they’re _hunters_.

Their silence is disconcerting, eerie almost and Dean wonders where the hell they came from. There had been no signs of other inhabitants within the convenience store. The silence is broken as the Impala radio starts up again, the song echoing outside the vehicle and around the station, almost like a wind.

>  
> 
> _On the street corner_  
>  Away from the light  
>  I know you’re near  
>  But you’re nowhere in sight  
>  Over my shoulder  
>  I feel you’re near  
>  I feel you moving  
>  But you never appear  
> 

“For fuck's sake Sam, now is not the right time for this,” as quiet as Dean’s words are they cut through the lyrics of the song and almost as though Sam has heard him the radio stutters out. As one the hunters look over at the car and then back at Dean, their expressions harsher now than before.

“Look,” Dean swallows, mouth dry, and takes a cautious step forward. “I’m just here to fill up my car with gas – that’s all I want, nothing more. I didn’t even know you guys were here.” Dean takes another couple of steps closer to them and now he can see them more clearly he recognises one of them. There’s a moment of joy at realising that somebody he knew before all of this went down is still alive, that not all the hunters he’s worked with are dead. “Garth?” he asks, just to be sure because the man standing in the middle of the line is nothing like the Garth Fitzgerald he knew before. He’s older, and more muscled but the main difference is the careworn expression on his face. Dean never saw Garth look like this even after Bobby’s death.

Garth doesn’t answer, doesn’t say a damn word and Dean shakes his head. “What the hell – how did you even survive San Antonio?” he asks. Still silence and Dean can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “Garth, stop pissing about,” he says.” Would you just say something?”

Garth sighs and pushes his cap back from his forehead. “Just go Dean,” he tells him, voice empty with nothing but words – there’s no emotion there and Dean doesn’t even want to think about what Garth might have seen to change him like this. After all he knows how much he himself has changed; doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore because he really doesn’t recognise the person staring back at him – at least, not on those times when he actually gets to see his own reflection, when it’s not Sam’s face staring back at him in a dingy motel bathroom or catching his eye from behind the wheel.

“Garth…” he says, uncertainly, and Garth’s headshake is sharp and stilted, cutting him off before he even has time to think about what he was about to say.  
  
“No Dean,” Garth’s voice is sharp now and there’s more than one gun raised and pointing in Dean’s direction. “Just fill up your car and get the hell out of here. We don’t want you here – Winchesters bring nothing more than despair and destruction. You above anybody else should know that. If it weren’t for you Bobby…” his voice trails off and it’s all that Dean can do to not respond to the unspoken accusation. “Just go Dean, the last thing we want or need is Sam’s attention. You should be grateful to him after all!” His words are wrapped in sarcasm.

Anger surges through Dean at Garth’s words but he knows that he can’t argue with him. There’s really no point after all because this whole mess that their world is in is after all down to Sam, and himself.

Dean shakes his head ruefully. “Fine,” he spits the word out. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you after all. But Garth, seriously…” There’s no response but as Dean starts to walk toward the Impala the men move back out of his way, avoiding him as though he was contaminated. It leaves a bad taste in Dean’s mouth and he can feel their eyes on him the whole time he’s filling up the car and the cans he keeps in the boot.

“Garth,” he turns back to them before getting into the car, wanting to say something, to try and reconnect with this man that he once knew.

Garth raises his gun slightly. “Goodbye Dean.” It’s final and Dean doesn’t even bother to respond, turning his back on them and getting back into the car before driving away.

*****

Dean pulls the car onto the side of the road and parks up. The road he’s on was once a four lane highway, no doubt busy with vehicles taking people hither and thither with no thought about what might be on the horizon. Now it’s empty barring a few burnt out hulks that he passed earlier.

For once it’s not raining and Dean leans his head on the steering wheel or a moment or two before climbing out. It’s sunny and it’s a pleasure to feel the warmth on his bare arms from the sun. Dean smiles for the first time in what feels like forever and, taking a bottle of beer out of the cooler he keeps on the back seat of the car, he takes a long drink before climbing onto the bonnet of the Impala. He leans back and takes another mouthful of the lukewarm beer, enjoying the flavour on his tongue. The radio crackles into life again.

>  
> 
> _Cloaked in darkness_  
>  You play at your game  
>  I hear you breathing  
>  Call out your name  
>  Closer, closer, I feel you so near  
>  You’re just a shadow  
>  But you never appear  
> 

Dean laughs, a little hysterically, and salutes his brother with the bottle. “Got it in one Sammy,” he tells him.

He’s been chasing rumours for a while now, picking up glimpses here and there of what Sam and his demons are doing. Dean no longer really cares though – he’s tired; tired of this life and running. Even hunting has become a more bitter than sweet – those he manages to rescue are clearly as afraid of him as they were of the demons and monsters terrorising them. It feels sometimes like he has Winchester tattooed across his forehead. There doesn’t seem to be any point to it anymore and Dean misses his brother so much it feels like a physical pain inside. He’s had enough of running and wants nothing more now than Sam. Dean is lonely; Sam has always been the pivotal point of his life, the sun that Dean orbits around and Dean misses him. He has conversations with Sam, even though the passenger seat is empty and Sam is no longer _his_ Sam.

“Come on Sammy,” he entreats his absent brother. “I’m waiting – come and get me.” Dean tips up the bottle of beer, swallowing until it’s empty. He wipes his mouth and throws the bottle into the road where it smashes with a tinkling sound. Dean closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and waits. Sam will be here soon.


End file.
